


Things Hell Won't Claim

by thecaskofarmadillo



Category: Last Shadow Puppets, Miles Kane - Fandom
Genre: 1800s AU, 1800s medicine, Epilepsy, Illness, In a minor character, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Exorcisms, Mentions of the Devil, Questionable things being said about literature, Religion, Terminal Illness, alex is a virgin, doctor!Miles, everything is inaccurate probably, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2020-05-13 15:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19253581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecaskofarmadillo/pseuds/thecaskofarmadillo
Summary: Alex believes he cannot be healed, but Miles still wants to try





	1. Chapter 1

Miles was nervous. Understandably so. This was really the first time Mr Barnsby had let him go out to a patient alone. Miles suspected the senior doctor knew the reason he was so keen on visiting this particular lady. They were both men of science, after all, they both knew the rumours about the Turner boy were untrue. 

As he walked up the few steps to the porch at the front of the monstrously big house, Miles wondered, a little alarmed, if both him and doctor Barnsby had simply given up on poor old Mrs Turner and taken this as Miles picking up a new gig. He shuddered at that. That wasn’t what he believed. He liked to think of every situation as solvable and nothing seemed doomed to him. At some point in his life, Miles had decided that nobody could ever profit from having a fatalistic attitude. He guessed people around town liked him for it, he got on with most everyone since he’d moved in to work under doctor Barnsby. He was the cheery apprentice everybody knew. 

Mrs Turner was sitting in her wheelchair in the big salon on the right, as Miles came to find out from the directions given to him by a young maid that then proceeded to bring him tea into the well-lit room. The woman looked like an ancient doll, hidden in colourful scarves, decorated with outstanding makeup, and mostly unmoving. She wasn’t ordinary, but Miles almost found the sight endearing. He remembered his thoughts from earlier and decided to save his inquisitions into her nephew’s situation for later. 

‘Why, good day, Mrs Turner, this is Miles Kane,’ he told the lady in a cheery voice as he sat down on a stool close to her and started taking out some gauze and rubbing alcohol out of his leather bag and placing them on his knee.

‘Ah, Miles, what a pleasant surprise. The Doctor couldn’t make it?’ she inquired, her eyes opening slowly. ‘I’m so glad you came, my dear, this pain is getting unbearable,’ she grabbed at Miles’ arm, ‘it’s eating me from the inside, consuming me.’

Miles sighed. ‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Turner. Let me just give you some medicine and maybe you can have tea and some rest in the garden, eh? Such lovely weather today, not even a bit of wind, either. Surely that will make you feel better.’ Miles watched her drop her hand from his sleeve, ‘In fact, it’s doctor’s orders. Mrs Turner, I prescribe a good nap to you.’ He rubbed a soft hand over her arm and watched her give him a small smile. He liked his job a lot. 

He administered the drug, which was really just morphine, and the knowledge made Miles feel all kinds of guilty, but he knew there was no other help. He always sat there the twenty minutes it would take to take full effect and watched Mrs Turner relax from the knots the pain had her tied up in. As they were sitting together, Miles sipping his tea, the lady seemed to remember something, clutching weakly at his dress shirt once more. ‘Are you to pick up the money for Mr Barnsby, as well, my dear?’ she rasped out. 

Miles felt guilty for feeling excited. So that was why Mr Barnsby sent him out today. Surely the young nephew was the one in charge of finances. Miles just had to meet him for a few minutes to talk some sense into him. He knew Dr Barnsby always advised against feeling sorry for his patients, but Miles simply couldn’t help it. He felt sorry for Mrs Turner and he felt sorry for her nephew, even though he’d never met him before and he couldn’t even be certain in his diagnosis. It would be difficult, but Miles was ready to fight. Thinking about it, he was unsure how old the man really was. Really, he could be a boy for all Miles knew. ‘Oh, yeah. Yes. I will be picking up the payment, if that is okay with you, Mrs Turner. Doctor Barnsby asked me to take care of it,’ he smiled quickly at her. 

‘Oh, what a shame, dear Mr Kane. What a shame. My husband is not home, you see, loverly? We would have to ask my nephew to take care of it, he works with the finances sometimes, but dear Mr Kane, the boy isn’t right,’ she went slightly pale and lowered her voice, ‘If you’d seen him, Mr Kane. Something lives inside of him, something dark. He shakes and foams at the mouth and speaks in tongues.’ When the lady had finished, she was close to tears. Miles felt slightly angered at what she’d said. Surely a family member should have been more sympathetic to such an unfortunate condition. 

‘I don’t mind, Mrs Turner. I’ve seen such things before,’ he smiled at her and squeezed her hand.  
‘Well, dear, if you insist. I cannot withhold money from you and Mr Barnsby anyway. I would hate to make you feel like I was unwilling to pay,’ she said very quietly, Miles realising she was close to dozing off. 

He watched her fall asleep as he finished his cuppa and then waited politely for the maid to come pick it up, so he could ask about the young Mr Turner. 

Genevieve, the young maid, lead Mr Kane to an office further in the house and ordered him to wait for the gentleman to come down to him, she would make him aware he was there. Miles felt himself get nervous again. He felt he was giving this cause more importance than it really had. Maybe the man didn’t want to be saved, at all. Maybe he wasn’t ill with what Miles suspected he was. 

When the door opened, in stepped a thin, short man with hair carefully slicked back over his head. He was wearing a nice suit, but his eyes were meager and deep-set, almost sad. His cheeks were hollowed-out and he seemed authoritative, but solemn. Miles wondered if the decision had been a mistake. 

‘How’s my aunt, doctor?’ the man rounded the desk and stood opposite Miles, his figure appearing even smaller than when he’d walked in. 

‘She’s—uh, she,’ Miles looked into the man’s deeply unaffected eyes, ‘She’s not so well, Mr Turner. She doesn’t have a lot of time left.’

‘Right, yeah. Been knew,’ Mr Turner sighed and sounded so troubled that Miles wished he’d had sugarcoated it a bit more. He felt like an utter fool for ever thinking he could just come and take advantage of this man’s supposed condition, especially at this trying time with his aunt. He internally swore to himself to forget about it and never do anything so foolish again. 

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Turner. It must be very difficult for the family.’ Miles tried, clutching his bag to his side tightly. 

His companion looked up at him from where he was going through the papers on the desk, his gaze knowing, slightly amused, ‘No worries, doctor. Mr Kane, I take it?’

‘Oh, yes, sorry. I assumed you knew. Mr Kane.’ Miles stretched out his arm in greeting as the other man stared at him. 

‘I’m Mr Turner, Alexander. And absolutely not, I will not shake your hand. Pleased to meet you, how do you do, all that,’ Mr Turner turned around with a key and a paper he appeared to have finally found on the desk, ‘Three hundred, then?’

‘Three hundred.’ Miles parroted as he quickly worked out the weekly fare. 

Alexander turned around with the money, shutting the safe. ‘Alright then. One—sorry, weren’t expecting you, we’re all out of hundreds—three, there you go.’ he placed the money in Miles’ hand and looked into his eyes again before taking in a breath, ‘My apologies for the hand shaking. I’m sure you understand I have my reasons.’ 

‘You don’t have to,’ Miles quickly intercepted, ‘but know that there’s nothing wrong with you shaking my hand. It would be completely okay, you know, Mr Turner?’

Mr Turner laughed a bit dryly, shaking his head. ‘You’re an optimist. It is apparent from the way you treat my aunt like she’s not about to bid us her last goodbye any second now. They did well by making you a doctor. But I can’t be treated, Mr Kane. Leave it.’

Miles shut up. He didn’t have the right, he reminded himself, this was not his battle. ‘Well, thank you for the payment and sorry for the disturbance. It was nice meeting you.’ 

Alexander gave him a terse smile and stretched his arm towards the door to the office. Then he paled a little bit, breathing in thorough his nose. ‘Off you go, leave now, please, Mr Kane, would you? Pleasure meeting you.’ the man said quickly and lead Miles out of the room. 

Genevieve appeared on the stair landing in the hall at that point, waiting to show Miles out. He swallowed any comments in defeat and started following her towards the main door, when a soft thud sounded behind them. 

Mr Turner, on the floor at the office door, on his back, his limbs contorted, his eyes rolled back, his mouth open, his body shaking. Miles congratulated himself on the diagnosis. 

Genevieve screamed, her hands over her mouth, tears quickly filling her eyes. Miles rushed towards her. Her voice was choked up when she whispered into Miles’ ear, ‘He’s here, Mr Kane, again. The devil.’ And she broke out crying as Miles grasped her wrists and wiped her tears. 

‘Not the devil, Genevieve, the grand mal.’ Miles whispered and then moved towards the man on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was initially not planning on ever publishing this because of how inaccurate this could be. All feedback is appreciated.
> 
> I am at hemovesthemoon on Tumblr and will love you forever if you drop by to tell me what I got wrong or even to scold me.


	2. Chapter 2

Miles was already taking off his suit jacket to put under Mr Turner’s head, taking a stride towards his body shaking and turning on the floor when he was stopped abruptly by Genevieve’s small hands gripping his arm with all her might. Tears were spilling from her eyes. ‘Please, Mr Kane, please,’ she pleaded, visibly having trouble not sinking to the floor in desperation, her eyes wide as they seemingly could not leave Mr Turner’s body.

Miles gently pried her hands away. ‘Genevieve,’ he said firmly, holding her palms in his hands to reassure her, ‘Genevieve, look at me, dear,’ Miles repeated, now in more of a hurry to attend to the patient. When Genevieve finally focussed her baby blues on Miles, he attempted a compassionate smile, ‘Let me help Mr Turner. You can go make sure Mrs Turner gets her rest in the garden, hm? You don’t have to look at this anymore.’

Genevieve looked back at Mr Turner briefly, then hung her head and turned around, a small whimper still escaping her as she hurried out of the corridor and towards the salon on the right. 

Miles approached Mr Turner quickly, putting his jacket under his head and then scanning the corridor for anything that the man could hurt himself on. The tiny cabinet that held mostly family photos was just in reach, so Miles settled himself between the piece and Mr Turner, as he was fully aware he was probably not allowed to move it. He inserted his hands under Mr Turner’s head and waited, his heart clenching completely unexpectedly in a far too familiar way. Miles watched the time go by on the grandfather clock by the staircase and mostly tried not to look at Alexander’s rolled-back eyes. 

The end of the fit made the corridor so quiet that Miles almost considered listening to Mr Turner’s pulse instead of feeling it, before he grinned to himself about the prospect. Truly, he felt unsure about what to do. He felt he needed to examine the patient, make sure he wasn’t hurt, and possibly administer medicine. But he swore to himself it wasn’t his place. Nobody had truly authorised him to care for Mr Turner at all. Genevieve openly protested the notion of Miles as much as touching him, and Miles believed that if she’d seen Miles touching him during the fit, she would have had a seizure of her own. 

The impression was only strengthened by the gentle shriek she let out when she walked into the corridor again, coming back from the garden. Miles asked for a nice place to set Mr Turner so he wouldn’t have to wake up on the floor.

‘Mr Turner always goes upstairs.’ Genevieve told him, her voice controlled and her colour back to deadly white.

‘I can’t carry him, Genevieve, please.’ Miles pressed on as he stood up and reached out to comfort the girl in from of him, but she stared at him with wide eyes. 

‘Please, Mr Kane, don’t touch me,’ sounded the order she gave, resolute despite the tremble in her voice. 

Miles sighed, hoping the action alone would assert his authority, but Genevieve stared him down. He put his hands on his hips, exasperated. Was this maid going to leave an unconscious man lie in the middle of the main corridor until he woke up and simply walked off on his own? ‘Genevieve, I am a medical professional and I can help this man. I am not going to leave him out in the middle of a dark hallway without assistance,’ Miles used his most authoritative tone, pointing at Mr Turner behind him, but then looked over at the small body splayed on the green carpet and breathed out, ‘and even if I couldn’t help him, this is no way to treat a human being, come on now.’

Genevieve went a little red in her cheeks and huffed, then pulled out a ring of keys and walked over to the nearest door to the left, opening it and casting relieved Miles a hurt glance. ‘You are so foolish, Mr Kane, so stubborn,’ she uttered mostly to herself, voice almost breaking, then took the key off the ring that could easily serve as her bracelet, and held it out on one end for Mr Kane to take, ’Do lock the door behind you, Mr Kane, please.’ And she was off. 

Miles stopped himself from giving her a look and instead moved over to Mr Turner. He felt over the man’s spine and his limbs, and, once assured no fractures had been inflicted during the fit nor the fall, after cradling his skull gently, Miles picked Alexander up and carried him into the warm salon decorated in emerald greens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was initially not planning on ever publishing this because of how inaccurate this could be. All feedback is appreciated.
> 
> I am at hemovesthemoon on Tumblr and will love you forever if you drop by to tell me what I got wrong or even to scold me.


	3. Chapter 3

The touch that awoke him was gentle, or gentler than most other times anyway. A set of soft fingers grazed his cheeks slowly and it helped, being touched made him feel like he resided in his own body again. There was endless darkness he kept staring at behind his eyelids and even if he did not particularly enjoy dealing with the reality of what had happened, Alex felt eager to meet the light of day again. It took a few tries, maybe, but he eventually did open his eyelids. They revealed the slender figure of a man he vaguely remembered from some time ago, maybe days, but experience told him it would be less than hours. Sun was coming in from behind the man and hitting the back of his head, giving him a halo that kept shrinking and enlarging as the man moved above Alex. The hand had been removed from Alex’s cheek, but its comfort lasted. The room was warmer than what he was used to and he looked around slowly. The wallpaper revealed the room to be the old salon, the one used for when company was over and so usually left empty. Assessing that he’d been lain on the French sofa, he turned from his side onto his back with a soft plop and dared close his eyes again, since whoever was attending to him had ceased hovering over his body. 

‘How long was I out?’ he asked, placing his arm on his forehead and wiping at the sweat he found to have gathered there. 

The man came back from where he was at the window and sat down next to Alex’s legs. ‘A couple of minutes, really. You needn’t worry. I’m your aunt’s doctor,’ said the man, the cadence of his speech kept strictly soft and monotone.

Alex chuckled a bit, childishly needing the doctor to understand that he wasn’t scared of him, as he found his statement maybe just a tad patronising. ‘Not scared,’ he said, ‘quite surprised you’re not scared, really,’ he rasped out, gradually feeling more and more thirsty. 

The doctor laughed lightly and then produced a glass of water from the side table by the foot of the sofa and held it above Alex as an offer. Alex sat up straight and turned to face the big window, his feet coming off the sofa and his back settling next to the doctor’s, careful not to touch. He took the glass and drank, noticing an added flavour in the drink and suppressing his instinct to ask about it, as that could have hinted at fear. It seemed like a weak thing to do, and Alex found himself quite preoccupied with having to prove his strength, conditioned into always fighting to impress people. 

The doctor watched him drink the beverage up, smiling softly at him. He had an interesting face and seemed much, much younger than the previous doctors Alex’s aunt had had. The doctor took the empty glass from his grip to set it on the table, even that small action making Alex’s blood boil a little. He could be trusted with a fucking glass, Christ. But the doctor never stopped smiling, now gazing out of the window into the orchard outside, where Dogger was still picking peaches in the orange rays of the evening sun. 

He sighed lightly, ‘So I should be scared.’ He turned to look Alex in the eyes, making him realise that he’d been staring at the side of the man’s face ever since finishing the drink. 

Alex was not up for playing this game. He felt tired and wished for the man to simply leave. ‘Oh come on, I’m sure you’ve been warned. I shouldn’t even be in this room, not for this long, anyway. And you shouldn’t be spending this time with me, either,’ he felt himself get more and more awake with every word, gradually remembering all his rules and fears that had left him with his consciousness but were slowly creeping back. He got up from the sofa, still feeling a bit queasy, and headed for the door. ‘I cannot believe Genevieve even let you stay with me in one room,’ Alex looked back at the doctor once more as he reached the door. 

The doctor remained seated and unaffected. He spoke in that same controlled voice from before, ‘She didn’t, really. Had to beg her to let me attend to you when you fell.’ He cast Alex a look, his head turned sideways in an inquisitive way, gauging his reaction. 

Alex felt gobsmacked. This man was an idiot, surely. ‘Why, then?’ he asked, feeling increasingly confused.

The man took in a massive breath. ‘Because you’re not the Devil, mr Turner,’ he announced and slowly stood from the sofa. 

‘I’m not,’ pause, ‘but he lives inside my chest,’ Alex uttered and fled the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was initially not planning on ever publishing this because of how inaccurate this could be. All feedback is appreciated.
> 
> I am at hemovesthemoon on Tumblr and will love you forever if you drop by to tell me what I got wrong or even to scold me.


	4. Chapter 4

Miles's heart nearly shattered. He stared at the door that stayed just cracked open, the darkness of the hallway behind it. He could faintly hear Mr Turner stomping his way up the stairs above the room. 

It was time to pack up, then. A chance had been presented to Miles on a golden platter, a chance to gain a patient with epilepsy, and Miles completely failed at being a good doctor. Or a good negotiator, at that. 

It was only as he was packing away and folding the payment he received into a little pouch on the outside of his bag, when he felt little pricks of anxiety start gnawing at his belly. That was the man who payed him that he had just angered and argued with. Argued? They’d had an altercation. Miles knew Alexander wasn’t the head of the household, but he certainly seemed to have enough of an attitude that Miles guessed he had a say in the way things were ran. If that was the case, that was not just the hand that was feeding him that Miles had just bit, that was also the hand that was feeding Dr Barnsby. 

He looked out of the window. He sighed. He never should have started. The anxiety in his stomach had turned into a heavy storm of bad conscience and by the time Miles reached the door of the salon, the decision had been made, almost as if Miles’s gut had got a mind of its own. 

Miles turned left and headed straight for the wooden stairs, climbing them quietly, clutching his doctor’s bag in one hand and keeping the other on the railing, steeling himself. But when he reached the first floor, Miles cursed. There was nothing in the house but long hallways full of the same heavy wooden doors and Mr Turner could be behind any one of them. Miles negotiated with himself. He would climb the next staircase and have a look at the other floor. If he didn’t spot Alexander, he would be allowed to leave. Surely that would be enough. He would have tried to make amends, but, alas, it wouldn’t have been possible. 

Unfortunately, the second floor had another staircase in store for him, this time shorter and narrower, almost a ladder. At the end of it, there was a little landing and a door with a single steel bolt on it. Miles got a feeling that was what he’d come looking for. 

The bolt wasn’t done and the door didn’t reveal any sounds from behind it. Miles knocked. Nothing happened. He listened for steps on the other side, but there was only the monstrous and pervading silence of the house, so strong that after a while, Miles started doubting if he’d even knocked on the door in the first place. There were really no sounds coming from the other side. He took a breath and opened the door slowly. 

It went silently, it was oiled well. Miles half expected to see a simple old attic on the other side, but once he could take a look at the room, there was an abundance of light and a clean atmosphere. The walls were simple, white with no wallpaper, and the ceiling was indeed slanted. The window that was letting the light in covered the western wall and was lined by thick green curtains. One of them nearly brushed the desk nearby, just covered in sheets of paper and stacks of literature. There was a rug on the wooden floor under the chair next to the desk and one in front of the sink on the other end of the place. One rug was also hung on the wall, next to the bed that was closer to the eastern side of the room, where the wardrobe was. 

Miles almost felt embarrassed at how much surprise it had brought him to see such a homey room in front of him. It looked extremely cozy and inviting.

‘I really think it is time you went, doctor.’ Said a low monotone and Miles’s eyes were immediately drawn to the source of it. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed him. Mr Turner was sitting on the rug beside the bed, leaning on the bed frame with one of his shoulders, and Miles immediately felt the consequences of trespassing dawn on him. You always find something you never wanted to see. 

Alexander’s suit jacket was on the floor and so were his shoes. His eyes were trained on Miles’s, uncompromising and as authoritative as they had been in the office. Only this time his cheeks were flushed and his hair had fallen completely out of place, lining his face with thick dark strands still held together by hair lotion. 

Miles reprimanded himself once again for letting his heart go too soft too fast and feeling sorry for his patients. Nobody needed his pity. Definitely not Mr Turner, for as miserable as he looked sat on that floor, his eyes never gave his sadness away. Miles thought that maybe if he took his gaze off Mr Turner, he would find that he had been imagining it all along, and they were, in fact, still downstairs, and it had been Miles who’d fallen and bumped his head.

Mr Turner was about to speak again, and Miles didn’t want to just be lead out by him without giving an explanation. He really didn’t think much before he dropped to his knees and onto the wooden floor. If he was to apologise, he assumed it would take being on the same level with Mr Turner, and the man was clearly in no rush to move.

‘I apologise for sneaking in, Mr Turner. I just wanted to make amends. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.’ Miles started, sitting on his heels and inching closer to him, hearing Mr Turner exhale and stretch his legs in front of himself, almost reaching Miles’s own. 

Miles looked away, feeling ashamed, completely unprepared for the level of intimacy that seemed to be settling over them, especially when Mr Turner remained silent for a couple more moments. The silence was unpleasant to Miles, so when he was sure there was not going to be a response, he began to rise from his position and to dust off his knees and shins. 

‘What have you given me?’ came a quiet, sudden question from Mr Turner, who, too, began to get up. 

‘Excuse me?’ Miles looked over at him. 

‘In the water. Downstairs. What have you given me?’ Alexander replied, not sitting down anymore and picking his jacket from the floor and laying it on the bed. 

‘Matricaria. German Chamomile, it helps patients with nerves,’ Miles announced, thrilled at the curiosity shown by Alexander, ‘Dr Barnsby and I make the extract ourselves.’

Mr Turner finished straightening his jacket out on the bed and looked up at Miles, ‘It’s not working, doc.’

‘I—uh. Not all patients react to the dose, Mr Turner. Every body is different and it also takes some time. But I can give you some more,’ Miles replied, barely managing to maintain his composure at the frankness of the other man. 

‘Every body is different,’ he sat on the bed, still watching Miles unrelentingly, ‘but you know what’s wrong with mine. Why is that?’

Miles looked down onto the floor and leant into the doorframe. ‘I’ve worked with similar cases before. I’ve documented them,’ he took a deep breath before he looked up at Alexander again, ‘Mr Turner, you know you’re ill. You have epilepsy, not demons.’

Mr Turner rose again. ‘I don’t know anything, doctor. And you don’t know everything. You could be wrong.’

Miles nodded. He was right. ‘Alright then. I’m sorry ag—‘

‘Would you like tea?’ came from Mr Turner. 

Miles really had nowhere to be. ‘Sure, if you don’t mind.’ he took a step into the room. 

Mr Turner gave him a once-over as he stepped over the threshold and then looked away again. His sock-clad feet made quiet sounds on the floorboards when he moved towards the eastern side of the room and Miles started taking his shoes off by the door. 

‘If you don’t mind closing the door, uh…?’ Alexander said to him over his shoulder. 

‘Mr Kane. Miles. You can use Miles,’ Miles followed him into the back of the room, beyond the sink and the wardrobe, where a small stove stood, a kettle on top. 

Mr Turner shot him a look then, leaning down to feed wood into the stove and raising an eyebrow. ‘Okay, I’m Alexander.’ he stated when he rose back up and filled the kettle with water from a jug. ‘Do take a seat…Miles,’ he motioned towards the small round table and the two chairs that stood opposite the stove. 

Miles took a seat and watched Alexander prepare the beverage, feeling awkward and utterly out of place. He stuffed his hands between his thighs and let his bag drop between his feet. The next time Mr Turner turned around, he placed two steaming cups of tea onto the table and gave a small sideways smile. 

‘Any milk?’

Miles shook his head and gave a polite smile back, turning around a bit to face Mr Turner that had sat down opposite him. 

‘Good, milk’s downstairs,’ Alexander told him, taking sudden interest in his cup. Miles decided to have a stare-down with the wall over Mr Turner’s shoulder.

Alexander looked up at him and waited until Miles met his eyes. ‘What’s your professional diagnosis then?’ Miles tried to conceal his giggle with a cough, but he failed and earned a look from Alexander instead. 

‘You don’t care for it. Why ask?’ Miles explained himself, trying to maintain the conversation when Alexander had started it. 

He shrugged and played with the cuff of his shirt a little bit. ‘I just wanna know.’ he said very quietly, in a way that made Miles swallow all other questions along with the bitter tea.

Miles sighed. ‘I think you have epilepsy. A seizure disorder. I’ve seen it before, I have worked with it before,’ he took a sip from his drink, ‘I saw the way you rushed me out of the room, Mr Turner, I’

‘Alexander.’

‘Sorry. Alexander,’ and he waited for the man to look at him again, ‘I know you can tell when a seizure is about to come on. I know you sometimes don’t remember much afterwards. I saw the seizure, I know what it was,’ Miles put his cup down and shuffled closer towards the table, ‘Alexander, there are some drugs that we know of that can help. You’re far from the only person with this problem. There are thousands.’ 

‘What causes it?’

‘We, uh. We don’t know yet. We think it is a problem in the brain, but there are very little common characteristics between the cases that I know of.’ Miles responded, feeling that he might end up losing this fight. 

‘Why do you want to help me so badly?’ Alexander dropped his gaze again. 

‘It…Please don’t think of me as a manipulator. But if I could describe my own case of drug treatment, I could get funding for research at the university. I could, Alexander, I could really help people. People like you.’ Miles was clutching his hands in his lap. Actually sharing his deepest dreams with a near stranger felt surreal and it made him nervous. It felt wrong to talk about his ambitions before they were accomplished. 

‘Will it have to work for you to get the money?’ Alexander leant back in his chair. 

‘Not necessarily, no. Depends on what the reactions are and what relationships can then be observed between the treatment and the patient’s symptoms, really. For example—‘

‘Okay,’ said Alexander, his eyes dead set on Miles’s, ‘do it.’

Miles’s heart pounded against his ribcage, ’Really? You will let me?’

‘I will let you. I want you to try the treatment,’ Alexander assured, taking his cup back towards the stove, ‘I fancy another one, do you?’ he motioned at Miles’s teacup. Miles gave a nod, even if that was going to be his fourth one that day, and Alexander took his cup, too.

Miles was afraid he’d lost his ability to speak. His chance. All he’d ever wanted, at the reach of his fingertips, on the shoulders of the skinny man in front of him. He felt so elated he could have hugged Alexander. But he remained seated, and watched him with glistening eyes instead. 

Alexander turned then, giving a little smile, ‘But it won’t work, you know. The treatment.’ Alexander stated, leaning against the stove. 

Miles could not hold it in any longer. He gave an open smile, ‘Well how do you know?’

Alexander set the kettle down and sighed, ‘I’m not daft, doctor, you know?’ he gave Miles a look, ‘I’ve also read smart books,’ he smiled, ‘but…’ Alexander shook is head, ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you about this, Miles. I’m sure my life history has nothing to do with my treatment.’

Miles watched him with utter curiosity. He didn’t want to bring about any traumatic memories, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued. ‘Try telling me about your first seizure,’ he prompted. 

Alexander’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I, huh. I think I was six. It was very nice outside, and we were all playing tennis. And then I remember smelling this, just this odd smell. It was so out of place there, you know? And then I woke up in a completely dark room. It was difficult to comprehend,’ he let out a chuckle, ‘somehow I didn’t understand how I’d got there. And there was a doctor with us in the room, my mother and my father. I knew he had no idea what was going on, because you doctors always make sure you dote on the patient, but he would hardly look at me.’

Alexander rubbed his eyes, ‘When they let me out, too, nobody would look me in the eye. I felt fundamentally broken. I didn’t even know what had happened, doctor. I’ve read about seizures enough to understand what I look like, but then. I had no idea. And then it happened again, after some time. That time they called in a priest.’ 

Miles gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes. 

‘No, don’t be like that, Miles. They did right by calling him,’ Alexander announced, ‘He performed an exorcism,’ he chuckled, ‘Even then, I think, I knew it would never go away. But they did try several times, anyway. I hoped that the exorcisms weren’t working because they’d got the diagnosis wrong. I wanted to know what was happening with me, so I started reading the Greeks, I learned about the disease,’ he eyed Miles. 

Miles was impressed. He felt strangely proud of his new patient for resisting the pressure of religion. But Alexander had no trust in Miles’s treatment. He swallowed, ‘What happened?’

‘What went wrong, aye?’ he chuckled at Miles, but Miles gave no response. ‘Well, my mother went ill. She was poorly for a long time and then she started coughing up blood. The priest said it was the thing within me that was consuming her energy,’ Alexander rolled his eyes, but Miles could still see that they were glistening in the light of the setting sun. 

 

‘And you believed it?’ Miles asked before he could stop himself.

‘I…it worked. For a while, isolation worked.’ Alexander said, locking his eyes on Miles’s, as if daring him to comment on it. 

At that point, Miles was finding it hard to swallow. ‘Go on,’ he whispered. 

‘I hugged her, that’s what happened. And she did die. The next day.’

Miles felt powerless. He had nothing to say, so he stood up and placed a hand on Alexander’s shoulder, but he shook his head and waited until Miles withdrew it. 

‘So, I think. I’m not sure. I don’t believe any epileptic drugs will help me, doctor. But I know there are thousands of people with epilepsy out there. I trust you to help them, but not me. I think I’m just cursed,’ Alexander shrugged, sniffled a little bit, and gave him a tiny, tiny smile. 

Miles thought his chest would catch on fire form the anger he felt. He looked over at Alexander, who seemed much calmer than before, his shoulders no longer tense and his eyes solemn and impenetrable again. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he told Alexander, his voice quieter than he’d expected.

‘I know. Was still hoping you wouldn’t be,’ Alexander turned to look at him, smiling.

Miles laughed, maybe feeling a little vulnerable, because he always thought feeling pity was his biggest weakness and Alexander apparently knew that. He remembered the tea then, and moved to fix them both a cup, feeling like he might need another five. Alexander remained unmoving, but when he noticed what Miles was doing he sprung into action immediately, taking the kettle from his hands, uttering a tiny ‘let me’. 

Miles sat back on the chair then, waiting for his cup and then deciding to press on, against his better judgement, ‘Can I have another question?’

Alexander leant against the stove once more, giving an amused nod. Miles was astonished at how cathartic telling the story seemed for Alexander.

‘What was it that upset you so much in the salon?’

Alexander ducked his head, his hair falling down around his face. When he rose back up, Miles detected a faint blush on his cheeks. Alexander chuckled, ‘I’m not used to people being willing to touch me, uh, Miles. I’m not sure. I guess I found it selfless that you wanted to care for me. I also found it very foolish.’ He gave a little nod, a little shy, maybe, and Miles’s heart melted and dropped into his stomach, making it feel heavy. 

‘Anybody should have done that.’ Miles told him resolutely. 

‘Yes, but nobody does it, Miles. And I appreciate you breaking the mould, but I would still prefer it if you didn’t touch me. Call it a precaution,’ Alexander said, adjusting the amount of air he was letting into the stove to kill the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was initially not planning on ever publishing this because of how inaccurate this could be. All feedback is appreciated.
> 
> I am at hemovesthemoon on Tumblr and will love you forever if you drop by to tell me what I got wrong or even to scold me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something I have been writing leisurely lately and this is all that is written currently. Further additions, if there are, will appear in July the soonest.

Miles was sat in the leather chair of the office, doctor’s bag on his knees and a thin smile on his lips. Mr Turner was standing up opposite him, brows furrowed as he read through the legal document in his hands. The mere existence of it made Miles oddly excited and scared at the same time. 

‘Alright then, Mr Kane,’ Alexander sat down and looked Miles in the eye, ‘I will tell you that I would advise strongly against signing this document. But I do require that you read and sign the two copies before we proceed. You can see that Mrs Turner has already signed the documents. I trust that you believe me when I tell you it was her.’

Miles nodded and took one of the copies in his hand and when Mr Turner said nothing and just watched Miles with a serous expression instead, he got to reading through the document. 

Overall, he thought it was rather ridiculous. The statement written in his name said that he was willingly overseeing Mr Turner’s treatment and that he was held to no obligation to continue in any case. Miles felt bad for holding the pen, not to speak about actually signing the paper. 

‘I’ve done this before, you know, Alexander?’ Miles spoke up, ‘I’m still very much alive and well. I assure you that I am going to be alright.’ 

‘You’ve treated epileptics before, Miles. I’m not a usual case. Now sign the contract, please.’ 

Miles did as he was asked and then, as promised three days before, he pulled out his own contract. He placed in on the desk and Mr Turner pulled it to him eagerly. It was not a long document. It stated that Mr turner had been informed about the possible side effects of his treatment, of the publication of the results and had every right to end the treatment at any time if he so wished. 

Mr Turner took his pen and pointed it at a passage on the paper, ‘Now are the side effects what you told me about the other day? The list of signs to look out for you promised?’ 

‘It is, yes,’ Miles nodded and reached for the list he’d composed of side effects he had listed when Mr Turner first agreed to be treated. 

Mr Turner signed the contract and accepted the list. He folded it and placed it in his breast pocket. He eyed Miles, gave a small smile, and nodded. 

‘Well done, then. Let’s begin.’ Mr Turner opened the door for Miles and lead him up the stairs. 

 

The room was illuminated by the gas lamps mounted along the walls, soft shadows being cast across the wooden floors and intercepting the stripes of warm light. The room appeared to be an island of warmth when compared with the hostile environment behind the window. Rain was coming down in sheets and pounding against the window panes. 

Miles was sat at Alexander’s desk, taking his equipment out of his bag and laying it out one by one. He was almost short on space due to the amount of papers and literature piled on the surface. The chair had a crochet blanket thrown over it and Alexander had fed the stove with wood as soon as they entered, so the burning was making soft sounds in the background. It all felt nice and cozy, almost making Miles want to just join Alexander where he was sitting comfortably on the bed, a pillow in his lap and an open book propped up on it. Miles’s socks were a bit wet from his journey to the house, as it was perched up on a hill near the lake and the forest, farther away from the town. He would gladly wrap himself in the soft blankets of the bed and just fall asleep instead of seeing to his medical responsibilities. 

‘Okay. So, as I explained to you last time, I’m just going to be taking some basic information about you, so I can refer to it later, may anything change. I also want to make sure you’re healthy, Alexander, and that we can go on with the treatment. How does that sound?’ Miles turned to face Alexander and the man looked at him in return. If Miles hadn’t talked to him before, he would have guessed the man was afraid.  
‘If you must,’ Alexander put his pillow and his book away and Miles came over to him with his equipment and the kerosene lamp from the desk. 

‘Okay. If you could undo the first five buttons, and then I’ll give your heart a little listen.’

Alexander’s mouth twitched into a tiny smile again. Miles noticed that it happened often, almost as if he was afraid that somebody would catch him smiling. 

Once the buttons were off, Miles gently guided Alexander by his shoulder to show him his back better, and Alexander hung his head immediately. Miles guessed it took effort to not shrug him off, but he felt that he now had the upper hand, Alexander accepting the role of the patient. 

Once the stethoscope touched Mr Turner’s skin, he let out a shaky breath shortly followed by an embarrassed chuckle that Miles found oddly adorable.

‘Breathe in deeply for me, please,’ he instructed and Mr Tuner did as he was told, but missed the mark a little bit. ‘Okay, like this,’ Miles breathed in deeply into his chest, so that Mr Turner could imitate him, and so he did. 

‘Good!’ Miles concluded, ‘Now the front, please.’ 

He listened quietly for a few moments, asking for a deep breath and then, needing Alexander to speak, he asked, ‘Very well. Now can you tell me what you were reading there, Alexander?’

‘Uh. Sophocles. Ajax. Have you read it?’

Miles smiled, ‘I have to admit, I have not. Is it worth it?’ Miles looked up at Alexander.

Alexander averted his gaze from where it had been fixated on the top of Miles’s head, ‘Well, I suppose, yes. If you like the Greeks, that is. Though he seems weirdly fixated on different types of burial. It’s very interesting.’ 

Miles could not help but let out a burst of laughter, taking the stethoscope out of his ears and giving Mr Turner a questioning glance, upon which he watched a faint blush appear on the man’s cheeks. Miles was almost able to make himself feel bad about making a patient uncomfortable. 

‘Well, that’s my observation, anyway,’ Mr Turner quickly recovered, giving another one of his sideways smiles and looking down where his dress shirt was hanging open. 

Miles continued his examination, testing Mr Turner’s reflexes and testing if his pupils were functional and isocoric, then settling on the chair again to record some answers to questions about Mr Tuner’s medical history.

Upon this, Alexander offered to make more tea for Mr Kane and gave him time to pack up his equipment while he stood at the stove and waited for the water to boil. When he came back, he was carrying the two cups of tea in one hand and a box of cookies in the other. He set the items onto the rug by the bed and sat down on a pillow he snatched from the bed. 

Miles watched him make himself comfortable and, perhaps a bit too late, realised he was expected to join him on the rug, as well. Once Miles stood, Alexander offered him a pillow of his own and Miles took it, settling close to where Alexander had set his steaming cup. Their backs were up against the bed and their feet were stretched near the desk chair’s legs. 

‘Ask away,’ Mr Turner said, smug and satisfied with his hot beverage, seemingly having regained all the composure he’d lost when his shirt was undone and his cheeks were rosy. Miles missed it. 

‘How many seizures would you say you have per month?’ Miles begun, a list of questions prepared in his notebook, places provided for the recording of the answers. 

Alexander took his time answering each question, sipping his tea and turning his head, pursing his lips and playing with his sleeves. He seemed to care deeply about giving accurate answers and Miles liked that. He liked precision. Inexplicably, he also liked it when the blush reappeared on Mr Turner’s cheeks as he recalled his experiences with seizures and previous treatment, of which most made Miles want to take his eyes out with little spoons, or to join the circus. 

Alexander seemed to notice, letting out the closest thing to an open laugh that Miles heard from him in their short time together, ‘Shouldn’t you have respect for other practitioners?’ he teased, still smiling. Miles felt really bad when he chuckled at that. 

‘You mean, the priests?’ And Alexander burst out laughing, his tea almost spilling from the cup before he set it next to his thigh.

Then his eyes went a bit dark, ‘You still believe you can treat me, don’t you?’ he turned to Miles, but his eyes remained fixated somewhere on Miles’s grey vest. 

Miles set his empty cup down, ‘Yes. And so do you. Otherwise we would not be here. Or would we?’

‘Maybe I’m just curious. I think you’re a good doctor, or I’m guessing you are. I want you to get to do your research,’ Alexander took a deep breath, ‘There’s something inside of me that I cannot account for and I would do anything to let it out, Miles. And the exorcisms, they don’t work. On me, they don’t work. So if there’s something to take for all the others, I want them to take it. Is that reasonable?’ 

Miles gulped. It was. It was also heartbreaking. 

‘Yes.'

‘Good. More tea?’

‘No, thank you, I’m alright,’ Miles nodded and moved to hand his cup to Alexander, who was already holding his own and reaching towards Miles. Miles placed the cup on the saucer into Mr Turner’s palm that was already holding one such set.

‘Ta,’ Alexander uttered as he brought his left hand up to hold the empty cups in place. His cuff was undone from the constant fidgeting and as he stood up to carry the cups to his kitchenette, the sleeve fell down to his elbow, exposing a set of tiny white scars on Mr Turner’s forearm. 

Miles’s eyes went wide, but Mr Turner seemed to be oblivious to the situation until Miles grabbed his arm, ‘Alex,’ he uttered in his surprised state and pulled until Mr Turner was facing him, sitting back down onto his heels, thighs bracketed by Miles’s own until he changed positions and also kneeled himself. Mr Turner sighed and set the cargo down, rolling the sleeve up. 

‘They’re old,’ Alexander announced, looking Miles in the eye. 

Miles knew he hadn’t been told abut any procedures that could have caused the scarring. 

‘You’ve just done this to yourself?’

Mr Turner sighed again. ‘Some doctors believe that—‘ he began.

‘Bloodletting? You performed bloodletting on yourself?’ Miles felt more understanding, it wasn’t long after the practice had gone out of fashion. But the fact that Mr Turner did it himself made Miles feel the familiar sting of pity in his belly. 

‘I…I did, yes.’

‘Okay. don’t do it anymore.’ He ordered, hoping he sounded authoritative. 

Alexander chuckled, ‘I won’t. It doesn’t work.’ 

‘I could have told you that,’ Miles rolled his eyes and gave a little smile, ‘Do you need a cream for it?’

‘I’m alright, thanks,’ Alexander shook his head and watched Miles run his fingers across the scarring gently. He didn’t draw his arm away until Miles let go of it completely. Then he stood and carried the cups back to the stove. 

‘You can wait the storm out if you wish,’ Alexander told him as he was coming back to sit on the rug. He tucked a cookie into his mouth. 

Miles wiggled his toes in his now dry socks that he was sitting on and gave a nod, ‘I’d like that, thanks.’ 

Alexander was busy chewing his mouthful and then adjusting the flame on the kerosene lamp, so Miles reached for the copy of Ajax on the bed and opened a random page to survey. To be honest, he wasn’t much of a reader. 

Once Alexander settled again, he said nothing, and so Miles continued reading the passage he had chosen. A silence started descending over them. 

‘I liked it when you called me Alex.’ came a sudden outburst from Mr Turner and Miles could see him looking into his lap out of the corner of his eye. It had been an accident that happened in the moment of surprise for Miles. 

Miles waited a bit before he rose his head. ‘Okay,’ he grinned, ‘and I will like it when you tell me more about Sophocles.’


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it seems I'm still doing this. Thank you for the wonderful comments.

Miles awoke, like most mornings, to the sound of Mrs Barnsby pottering about in the kitchen. It was still early, the clouds in the sky had a faint orange tint where they met the horizon and the morning dew coated the garden and the greenhouse that Miles could see from his window into the yard. The world was ill, he thought, but it always looked hopeful in the mornings. 

Miles bid good morning to Mrs Barnsby before he went to get the paper and by the time he got back to the kitchen, there was a fresh cup of tea waiting for him on the kitchen table. Mrs Barnsby insisted she didn’t need help in the house and made a point of it by memorising everybody’s favourite dishes and then preparing them exactly when one needed it without asking, which made Miles wonder if after all he’d been wrong in his beliefs and she happened to be a supernatural entity all along. 

Miles read the paper until the end, indulging even in the small literary section at the end that he would have usually avoided. He really didn’t reach much, but spending time with Mr Turner had apparently turned him on to poetic endeavours and he found himself thinking for hours on end over certain combinations of words that he’d read, imagining what clever adjective would Alex use to describe the author in question. Not that Miles admitted to Mr Turner that he’d started appreciating such art. He let Mr Turner talk during the examinations, but himself tried to adhere to the topic of the treatment. 

There was a hand on Miles’s shoulder and when he came back from his concentration, he saw that Mrs Barnsby was staring at him amusedly. Had been, it seemed, for some time.

‘Oh dear. You haven’t been paying attention at all, have you?’ Mrs Barnsby swung her dishcloth at him playfully, ‘Well, I were saying,’ she continued, ‘ I thought I’d make a pie for old Mrs Turner to cheer her up a bit. Henry tells me she’s taken a turn for the worse, poor thing.’ 

‘I don’t know if that will cheer the old lady up, Mrs Barnsby, because she’s truly unwell, as you say, but somebody will appreciate it, I’m sure,’ Miles told the lady as he folded the newspaper in half and carried it over to the sofa where he knew Dr Barnsby would find it, ‘In fact, I can carry it, I’ll be going up there with Henry today.’ 

Mrs Barnsby gave Miles a pat on the head, ‘Right then, now if you could be a dear and bring me some of that rhubarb from the garden, that would be lovely.’ 

.

As it turned out, Mrs Turner did appreciate the pie. So did Genevieve and so did the gardener. The pie was so well received that Dr Barnsby had to promise to take his wife over for a dinner and then was made to stay until the cook prepared a pie for the doctor to take home in return.

So while Henry was spending his time in the large salon, Miles was sitting on the bank of a creek, his suit jacket under his bum and face turned towards the benevolent sun that seemed to be out quite a bit, of late. Beside him, a man had his trousers hitched up to his knees and the rest of his legs were submerged in the ice-cold stream underneath them. The man’s hair seemed to be imitating the willow trees in its movements that were dictated entirely by the wind, spare for the faint stiffness of them caused by the lotion used in them that morning. 

It really didn’t take long for Alex to get bored of always welcoming Miles into his quarters upstairs or into the office of his uncle. After about three weeks of Miles’s check-ins Alex dragged him outside and seated them underneath an old pergola almost entirely overgrown by wild grapes, then the tiny library in what Miles suspected was supposed to be nothing but a slightly large closet. It seemed that avoiding scaring the staff, especially Genevieve, had caused Alex to find truly the loveliest of little quiet spots around the property and the farther away from people, the more at ease the man seemed to be. 

Truly, Miles was finished with taking notes on how Mr Turner had responded to his medication that week and now was only waiting for Dr Barnsby to finish his duties. He was in no hurry, though, of course. Not when Alex had a book of poetry in his lap and was picking out passages to comment on. There was a pencil behind his ear that he took out occasionally and pointed with it, writing poetry into the air. It was unlike anything Miles had seen before. Alex was saying things, but not like other people. When he said words, it seemed like he first had to pick them out like chocolates from a box, had to examine them to see if there was marzipan filling in them or not, and only then could they enter his mouth. 

‘Pleonasm, this bit. It speaks of overwhelming feelings, here, of unfathomable beauty. I enjoy it,’ Alex looked to Miles to see if he was following, ‘In speech, I cannot stand them,’ he said said with a grin, ‘a person should be able to choose a word to express themselves with accurately enough, I think. Some things one cannot fathom, but, then, I rarely hear someone speak of feelings so deep and particular that a single word could not cover it.’

Miles had lain down as Alex was speaking and now couldn’t really see into his face for the sun, but grinned at him nonetheless, ‘You know, I think we puny mortals are just trying to get our meaning across, and, in failing, try to savour every last bit of meaning from any word we can find.’ Alex smiled at Miles and nodded. 

‘Not that you’d know about it, of course,’ Miles pushed on with unabashed joy, ‘you’re above all us who wade in the mud of meaning.’

There was a moment when Miles thought that Alex had not got the joke, but that was before he kicked up water from the creek onto Miles’s trousers and then bent down to dip his fingers and sprinkle some onto Miles as well. 

‘Oh, don’t think I can’t have me revenge because I don’t want to touch you, doctor,’ he said with a little giggle as more water landed on Miles’s glasses, ‘besides, I never said I didn’t like the way you speak.’ 

‘Going for flattery this soon?’ Miles sat up to sprinkle some water on Alex himself, ‘Running out of ideas, are we?’ 

Alex gave him a little smile in response. It almost seemed daring, somehow, and Miles caught himself looking a while longer than planned. 

‘No way of convincing you that your touch is benign, is there?’ Miles squinted against the sun behind Alex’s head. No response. 

‘Alex?’ Nothing. 

‘We won’t speak of it then, right.’ Miles tried. He moved a hand before Alex’s eyes. Nothing. 

‘Oh,’ Miles said to himself as Alex blinked at him, ‘y’alright?’

‘Yes. yes, I am,’ Alex turned to him,’ sorry about that, sometimes I just lose my train of thought like that.’

‘No,’ Miles moved closer, ‘that was an absence seizure.’ 

‘Oh.’

‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

‘Shall we sit here a bit longer, then? Until you recover. Tell me about pleonasms.’ 

Alex smiled another little smile and shifted ever so closer to Miles as he reached for his book again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prepare for some horrible ?poetry? from me. I'm sorry.  
> spoilers in the end notes.

The forks were extra shiny. The curtains were not drawn, the lady had makeup on. There were thirteen people at the table and The last supper, Miles thought with a knot in his throat, was about to begin. 

Mrs Turner prepared herself for the occasion and she was beautiful, her face mild in the evening light and her slender body not covered in scarves and blankets but wound tight in a lacy dress. She reminded Miles of Alex, because they shared that determined glare, that resigned turn of words, the covert way in which they smiled, and it was easy to observe because Alex had been seated directly opposite Miles, while Mrs Turner sat by Alex’s left where she formed a barrier from Mr Turner that had been sending Alex resentful glares all evening. 

He was not the only one, for Genevieve was also seated at the table, along with the gardener and the staff from the kitchen. All food had been laid out on the table before they sat to eat. The clock struck nine and there was a slight lull in which Mr Turner’s arm reached for his glass, his feet scarped the carpeted floor, his throat let out a little noise and the company wanted for him to speak up, but then the moment was gone and the old moustached man looked down in realisation of his own folly. Except there was no folly there, Miles thought. The best porcelain was out and the lady was unlikely to make it through the next week. 

Finally, at five past nine, the old man raised his glass, ‘Eat up!’ he ordered and immediately got to work on his meal, face a little more red than Miles was used to seeing, though of course he only saw mr Turner rarely. 

Miles, too, got to cutting his food up, but if he’d had the choice, he would had preferred to start cutting up the heavy atmosphere in the air, although he doubted that would make it easier to look at Alex helping his aunt hold the glass up to her lips as she continued not eating.

It took the ever-cheery Mrs Barnsby until pudding to attempt to lighten the mood up. 

‘Ah, lovely cake this is, dear Mrs Arnolds,’ she nodded at the cook to Miles’s left and she offered her a thankful nod.

‘Gooseberry really is such a universal fruit, isn’t it?’ Genevieve joined in resourcefully, giving a little jab in the gardener’s ribs. 

‘Indeed,’ the bearded gentleman uttered and turned back to his food, much to Genevieve’s obvious disappointment. 

‘You know, I just read about Gooseberry in today’s paper. I believe it was an advertisement of some farmer or other that was selling his bushes,’ Mrs Barnsby joined in enthusiastically. 

Genevieve rolled her eyes, ‘Isn’t it terrible? So many advertisements are in the paper lately. One can barely read anything proper.’

‘Right!’ Mrs Barnsby agreed, ‘Weren’t it for the stories at the back, I wouldn’t at all bother to look through the last pages, dear.’ 

Genevieve visibly perked up at that. ‘So you read the lovely Miss de Lacey?’

‘I do, yes,’ Mrs Barnsby leaned over a bit to speak to Genevieve more directly, ‘are you a fan?’

‘I really enjoy her poetry, though I find the short stories bit gloomy for my tastes,’ Genevieve frowned and Miles grinned despite himself. He remembered it had been precisely a rather gloomy tale like that that first got him into reading the part of the paper in the first place. 

‘What did you make of today’s story, then, dear?’ Mrs Barnsby took a bite of her, truly delicious, Miles had to admit, cake. 

‘Well, I wonder,’ Genevieve sighed, ‘it seemed that the Miss was greatly upset. It seemed that she was angry with someone that had done her wrong, m I thought.’  
Mrs Barnsby simply nodded at that and sipped her drink, Miles knowing her to rather keep her opinions to herself if they were different to those of others, so as not to cause conflict. 

And Miles knew Mrs Barnsby’s opinion would be different, because he recognised her wisdom long ago, but also because he himself understood the story differently. He admired, though, the wonderful ways of Mrs Barnsby that allowed her to engage in conversations like this and never seem impolite. It often made him wonder how many times the old lady needed to bite her tongue when speaking to Miles himself. 

‘What is it that amused you so much, Dr Kane?’ Genevieve prompted him, ‘was it something I said about the story?’

Only then did Miles notice the faint smile on his lips that emerged at the thought of Mrs Barnsby thinking him a fool and him never once noticing. 

‘Not at all, dear Genevieve, I agree with you completely,’ Miles rose a glass to her before he took a sip, at which he noticed the secretly amused and completely knowing grin of Alex from across the table. He lowered his gaze.

‘No, Mr Kane, please. Do give us your reading of the piece,’ Alex spoke for the first time during the affair, earning a glare from his uncle and a surprised smile from Genevieve. Alex’s eyes came a little alive as if with misdemeanour and Miles felt his cheeks heat up. A fool indeed.

‘Well,’ Miles sighed, ‘I think Miss de Lacey is in love with this man in the story,’ Miles saw Alex’s right eyebrow perk up and forced himself to continue, ‘You see, she seems to be angry with him, yet the descriptors she uses are mild, loving, even. I think there is perhaps some barrier to this love between them and I think she attempts to blame him for being as lovely as she deems him in the second stanza, because that way she cannot resist his charm and suffers as the result of this,’ Miles looked at Alex, but the man was busy looking at his own cake, so he continued, ‘But I think the story is rather lovely, it seems so sincere it its affection, and it gets hopeful towards the end, I think, though I cannot recall what it was she wrote that made me think so.’ 

Alex stared at him bemusedly, likely from the realisation that Miles had been listening to his ramblings after all. Miles grinned at him self-consciously and Alex gave him an impressed little nod of approval. Miles turned to show his smile to Genevieve, but she had already resumed her work on her own portion of cake and the table fell silent again. 

The next time somebody broke the silence was when Mrs Turner turned whisper to Mr Turner and he helped her stand up. All the plates had been cleared of their contents and the sky outside had gone completely dark. 

‘Thank you all for coming. It has been a pleasure knowing you. Good night, my dears.’ old Mrs Turner spoke, then turned to her wheelchair and made her way into the salon where she would sit until she fell asleep. The twelve people at the table stared at each other helplessly until Mr Turner discharged them and everybody could return to their own duties. 

For Dr Barnsby and his wife that meant speaking to Mrs Turner and bidding their goodbyes while Miles gave Alex a new vial of medicine to use throughout the new week. 

They took to Alex’s chamber to talk about the developments the previous week. Developments, Miles thought, what a grandiose name. If he was being honest, which he liked to think he was more often than not, there were no developments and his medicine de facto didn’t work. If he was being honest even further, he would say that Alex was completely aware of this and Miles felt that it was only a matter of time until he had to stop this failure of an experiment. 

Nevertheless, he noted Alex’s experiences into his notebook with the same thoroughness that Alex seemed to be recalling them with, brows furrowed and a distant look on his face. In the artificial light of the room, Miles could see well the way shadows fell on Alex’s face, his sharp features, his prominent nose. Perhaps Alex did faintly resemble his aunt, but Miles was certain he had to have taken after his father that was not from the Turner family, because some features he didn’t share with his aunt at all, and while he imagined Mrs Turner must had been supremely beautiful when young, that could not compare to the beauty he saw in the way soft light landed on Alex’s eyelids and his cheeks. There was something very delicate about the bob of his Adam’s apple, the flutter of his eyelashes. It drew Miles in more than any short story could.

If Alex noticed him staring, and Miles suspected he did, he didn’t acknowledge it, just looked down onto the floor beside the bed that they were sat on. 

‘I liked your analysis of the story earlier,’ Alex looked at Miles.

‘Yeah?’

‘It was spot on.’

Miles chuckled, ‘But you can’t really know that, right? It’s just one of the interpretations. Only the author can tell what’s true.’

‘Indeed,’ Alex stood up and leaned his back on his writing desk so he got a good view of Miles, ‘and the writer am I.’

Miles’s eyes shot wide open. 

‘Didn’t you think de Lacey was an awfully horrible nom de plume?’ Alex smiled a bit. Miles remembered the little book in his hands when they started the experiment, Alex telling him he‘d thought the work was wonderful despite its clumsiness. 

It shouldn’t have been evidence enough, but somehow, in the way Alex looked at him, as if in great pain but also relief at the same time, Miles recognised the truth. 

‘The hopeful mood at the end of today’s story you felt was because of the distant roll of thunder like falling shackles that bring both fright and freedom in wet sheets laid upon the ground like the way you lay your quiet affection upon my heart to forever make me ill with want.’

Miles remembered that that had been the exact quote from the story, but failed to remember anything else as he stared at the man in front of him, the slim, small boy more fascinating than any illness that plagued him. 

‘You’re wonderful,’ Miles managed at last, his hand raised a little in a beckoning gesture he hadn’t realised he was making until Alex walked up to him and sank to his knees between Miles’s own as he sat on the bed and Alex on his heels on the floor. Miles hesitated before bringing his palm up against Alex’s cheek, but then Alex looked at him softly, with not concern in his eyes. Miles held Alex’s face, sculpted and soft. 

‘You’re also,’ Alex whispered and Miles chuckled. Then he kissed Alex, just gently, on the mouth. Alex took a breath before kissing back, his lips softer than Miles thought them to be. 

They parted, then, staring at each other with little smiles. 

‘Kiss me some more?’ Alex asked. Miles complied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know if it feels early for them to be smoochin' lol.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there. I'm back, I guess. I'm really sorry for deserting. Might make a tumblr post about it if I don't fall asleep before I do so. Hope you enjoy this, though. Love ya.

Alex was still sat on his heels between Miles’ legs, hands on his knees, face turned up to look into his eyes. He remembered the way Miles’ fingers had felt on his face that first time they met, when Miles woke him up gently in the warm light of the salon. Not to say it was magical, Alex was wary of Miles that day, but the warmth of his fingertips had been undeniable and vaguely familiar, and it had seemed to have infused Alex’s skin with life, after his stroke. 

Alex had half a mind to feel ashamed, the way he always felt after he got a bit closer to Miles. The man radiated warmth, had since they first met. Alex caught himself thinking of Miles the way some think of God; so good the love emanated out of him and onto Alex. It became simple to believe he could be loved when Miles looked at him and talked to him, and touched him. And Miles seemed like he wanted Alex to want to be touched and, well, loved, maybe. 

But Miles was also just that way, always sunny, hopeful. It was easy for Alex to latch onto him, like some sort of vampire, hunting for the affection he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe he deserved. So Alex felt guilty for using Miles, and for having let himself slip and get used to having someone like him around. Someone that Alex could ask to be kissed by, that is, and then have them do it, with ease and a look on their face that almost made the guilt go away. 

It was a lot for Alex, because really, he only knew about romance a little bit, and the memories seemed distant and unfamiliar when compared to his new situation. Was it romance at all? Truly, he barely knew Miles. The only thing he knew for certain about him, was Miles made it easy to stop worrying about himself, for a while, to reach out. 

And so he did reach out, when he wrote the poem for the paper, got it published. It hadn’t been as much a message for Miles as it had been a cry into the world; I dare. I dare to long. 

Really, Alex didn’t know if he’d expected Miles to even see the piece. Maybe he had hoped to let his feelings out, show the world there was something in him that cared, still, something disgustingly soft, without upsetting the fickle semi-unprofessional balance they had established with Miles. But then again, as he was looking up at Miles’ now familiar face, it was getting more difficult by the second to be wary of what could come of the whole affair. 

‘When did you start writing for the paper, then?’ Miles moved a gentle finger along Alex’s jaw, providing a simple way out of his head. 

‘Uh, it were. A year, I think, a year and a half, perhaps,’ Alex replied, reflecting on the initial excitement of doing something his family couldn’t take from him or taint with their opinion. 

‘It suits you,’ Miles said with a brush of his fingers through Alex’s hair, ‘writing. More than the accounting, I reckon.’

Alex didn’t reply, just let Miles caress his face and scalp with his lovely hands. 

‘Did you know I would see the story in the paper and know it were you?’

‘No.’

‘Did you want it?’ Miles was now regarding Alex with a curious gaze that Alex couldn’t as much as try to see through. 

‘Maybe,’ he shrugged, ‘I s’pose I wanted someone to know, I couldn’t stand it, like,’ he looked away. He didn’t know what he was saying, or why. He didn’t owe Miles a word. Or did he?

Miles seemed to think he did, because he pressed on, ‘You couldn’t stand what? My…softness?’ 

And Alex felt something tug at his heart at the word, from how intimate it felt. Miles was soft, wasn’t he? With his fingertip touches and chocolate eyes, he was all soft and inviting. He gave it a thought. Oh he could stand Miles’ softness alright, he reckoned. 

‘I feel like,’ he started and willed himself to go on, ‘with my aunt and all, she thinks she’ll be a goner tomorrow, and…it feels like you’re going to, uh. I were thinking, maybe, that you could leave, when she’s gone,’ he didn’t let Miles reply, ‘But there’s something. I believe, now. In something. It’s like when I wanted you to kiss me,’ Alex said and his cheeks went hot, ‘I weren’t afraid of you touching me, I guess because I believe you’ll be alright, cause you can’t be certain, really, but I can make that leap, eh…I don’t rightly know how to explain it,’ he took a while, then, but Miles remained silent, ‘an’ I guess I wanted to make something, write something, that is, to remember the feeling, to…preserve it, uh. There. Sorry.’

There was a lot of emotions swirling behind Miles eyes, and his mouth moved just slightly a couple of times, as if on a verge os saying something, but then he just slid down Alex’s bed to sit next to him on the floor, hands idly in his own lap. He sighed, ‘I won’t go unless you want me to.’

Alex wanted to say ‘stay, then’, but found himself unable to, so he resorted to shaking his head and whispering, ‘I want you to have a cup of tea with me,’ to which Miles nodded. 

The tea was made in silence, Miles leant on the stove, seemingly soaking in its warmth. Alex wanted him to kiss him again, but hated asking. He thought maybe if he didn’t, though, he would never get to do it again, because Miles looked so awfully pensive and comfortable with just sitting around sipping tea. Alex sat down still, awaiting something, because Miles was being uncharacteristically quiet. 

Miles didn’t say anything until he’d drunk about a half of his drink, Alex’s own going cold in his hands. ‘I feel like I shouldn’t say it,’ Miles started, ‘but I feel proud of you. And to be completely honest with you, I didn’t know I wanted to kiss you,’ Miles left a pause there, as if expecting Alex to get upset at that, ‘but now that I have,’ he grinned. 

Alex hadn’t said anything, so Miles extended his arm towards his end of the table, and when Alex took it, he lead them to the bed. Alex had to stop himself from getting giddy. He revelled in it. The big hand on his lower back bringing him close to Miles, the breath on his neck, Mile’s soft lips on his. Miles pulled then, until they sat down onto the mattress, turned towards each other, legs entwined slightly, in an effort to find the right position. Alex thought he would be content to kiss Miles like that forever, if need be. 

And he did, or so it felt, before Miles broke the kiss with a peck on Alex’s lips. ‘I think it’d be best if I went home with Dr Barnsby, yeah?’ Alex hummed in response. He was right, of course, Alex had just forgotten about most other people for a couple of moments. 

‘Terribly irresponsible, of you, though, doctor,’ he smiled at Miles, eyes half-lidded, settling into the mattress a little bit. 

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah, the patient you’re leaving is clearly in distress,’ Alex explained and Miles grinned at the languid body splayed over the still-made bed. 

‘Oh I will check on him later in the week, it’s just I’ve got work to do at me own house, you see? Somebody wanted me to read a poem,’ Miles feigned a bored yawn and put emphasis on the last word.

‘Pillock,’ Alex snorted, twinkling eyes fixed in Miles, ’s’not a poem. But read carefully, I will have questions.’ and he let Miles close the door after himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> baby's first smut! (even though it's very little smut)
> 
> do give feedback! I love you!

The breeze was delicious, ruffling their hair as they lay in the grass of the riverbank. Alex’s lips were delicious. They tasted of tea and blood that he’d bit out of them before Miles leant in. The world existed around them, in an unhurried way, Mrs Turner was dying in the shadows of her vast house, Dr Barnsby was in town making sure somebody else wouldn’t. 

Miles tuned it all out, one by one, witch each one of Alex’s quickened breaths puffed out against Miles’ lip, or his cheek. Alex was lying on his back underneath Miles, his body a knot of energy, his kisses hot and deep, needy. Miles rubbed circles into his chest and arm where his hands were splayed and wondered what would come of this. All he was capable of thinking about was Alex, his body warm and solid underneath him. 

Alex let out a little whine, a plea of sorts, and hooked a leg over Miles’ hip, bringing him closer to Alex. Miles groaned, a small thing deep from his throat, his hardening cock pressed into Alex’s thigh and Alex’s own member hot and hard at Miles’ hip. It was delicious, the little bit of pressure, the warm slide of Alex’s tongue against his own, the hand on his back, the other one rubbing his scalp absently. Miles moved to kiss Alex’s neck, soft, unmarking, but hungry, wet and open kisses, over the veins there, pressed where the soft skin of his throat met the hard line of his jaw. Alex whined louder now and his hips lifted to press harder into Miles’ own, making Miles moan quietly into Alex’s skin, moving lower yet, licking a stripe along his collarbone and biting a bit at the bone, drawing a hiss out of Alex and a tug at his hair. Miles got a hand under Alex’s shirt, rubbed circles into his belly, listening for hitches of breath, for little moans and gasps as he kissed his way into the middle of Alex’s chest, unbuttoning the shirt as he went along. Alex’s hand was wound tight in his hair, pressing his head into the skin and Miles wanted to never come up for air from that hold and drown in the soft flesh. He sucked lightly, licked over Alex’s nipples. This earned him a surprised huff and a scratch of nails where Alex had gotten his hand under the back of Miles’s own shirt.

Miles bit little bites at Alex’s bellybutton, smiling contently when Alex giggled, then moaned. His back arched deliciously. 

‘Miles,’ Alex whispered, hips shifting to get friction where Miles rested between Alex’s legs.

‘Yes, love?’ 

‘Miles’ he whined, his breath hitching in his throat as Miles made I back up to kiss and lick along his Adam’s apple. He never continued, but Miles got the hint, dragged a hot palm down Alex’s torso and pressed it into his groin where Alex’s cock was straining against his trousers. Miles kissed him as he made a move to undo the button, but didn’t get the chance, because Alex broke the kiss, going rigid. 

‘Miles,’ he breathed, hand meeting Miles’s at the fly of his trousers, eyes trained on his as they looked up from the grass with blown pupils, ‘I don’t—,’ Alex looked down, ‘I haven’t done this, uh. Yet.’ Miles’s breath caught in his throat, surprised and something else, making his heart stutter. Alex was not looking at him. 

Miles leaned down to kiss him again, deep and determined, hands on Alex’s jaw, and he looked into his eyes, ‘This okay?’ Miles asked, leaning over his mouth again, feeling Alex relax under him. ‘Yeah,’ Alex nodded a bit, pressing a kiss against the side of Miles’ mouth. There was something else he was going to say, Miles knew, but there was a blush to Alex’s cheeks and Miles didn’t want to hear him stutter out any sort of apology. 

He kissed Alex again instead, and Alex answered enthusiastically, getting worked up again and keening under Miles. Good, Miles thought, and lifted Alex’s hips to meet them with his own. Miles smiled as he pressed his lips to Alex’s ear. ‘Do you touch yourself?’ He asked thumbs making patterns on his hips. Alex swallowed hard and whined at the back of his throat. ‘I,’ he closed his eyes, ‘not often,’ a blush crept up on his cheeks and he licked his lips, ‘more now.’

Miles groaned into the crook of Alex’s neck, reminded abruptly of his own state, hips still slanted along Alex’s and Alex’s hips snapped to meet his there, a surprised hitch escaping Alex’s throat.   
Miles rested on his elbow to look at Alex, at his blown pupils, flushed cheeks, down to the wet patch at his trousers, below his heaving chest. He pressed a kiss where Alex’s nose met his cheek. ‘You should touch yourself now,’ Miles said into the crook of Alex’s mouth and Alex whined loudly, his back arched to get friction from Miles where they were pressed together idly. 

‘Miles,’ he said, a plea, hand twisting in his hair again. 

‘I want to see you,’ Miles pressed his lips into his neck, ‘if you’ll let me.’

That did it, it seemed, because Alex pushed his hand into his trousers then, letting Miles help him tug them a bit lower and gave himself a few experimental strokes, rugged breaths now coming out of his open mouth. Miles remained pressed to his side, breathing him in and watching with hungry eyes. He pried Alex’s hand from his cock and gave his open palm a generous lick, Alex’s eyes trained on him. ‘Go on,’ he said and Alex resumed his strokes, surer and faster now, but even as he was touching himself, Alex took Miles’ hand in turn now, kissing the middle of the palm and licking it, too. ‘You, too,’ he told the palm, his hand almost stilling on his own cock as he watched Miles take himself out of his trousers. 

Alex let out a little sound at seeing Miles’ cock out, but didn’t do anything besides start touching himself again, faster once more, hips shifting into his palm now a bit and Miles let himself groan, the tightness in his lower belly coiling tighter still as he begun stroking. They lay like that, legs entangled slightly, panting, watching each other, getting off on it. Alex’s eyes remained trained on Miles’ cock, even as Miles shifted to kiss Alex’s collar bone, his neck, along his jaw.

Alex’s hand was twisted in Miles’ shirt, his name falling from Alex’s lips in periodical huffs until a low whine accompanied the last one out and Alex came, face turning soon after to press into the side of Miles’ own where it rested on his shoulder. Seeing Alex taken care of, Miles let go, himself, biting a bit at Alex’s shoulder. 

They wiped their hands on the grass as best as they could, Miles pressing a kiss to Alex’s mouth. He looked down on him from where he was propped up on his elbow. Alex’s eyes were tracing the movements of the clouds above them. He turner to look at Miles as he tucked himself back into his trousers. Miles waited for him to speak, watched the eyes turned amber in the sun. They looked him up and down, Miles aware of how disheveled he looked. 

No words came, so Miles lay back down next to Alex, shoulders just barely touching. He remembered that he’d been there on business, initially.

‘Appointment next Wednesday?’ He turned to look at Alex. The man nodded, face still turned up at the sky. 

‘Okay,’ Alex turned to look at him with a whisper, then he stood up abruptly, and left for the house. 

Miles was left lying dumbfounded in the grass, the clouds still moving above him and the ghost of a body next to him in the grass.

**Author's Note:**

> So I was initially not planning on ever publishing this because of how inaccurate this could be. All feedback is appreciated.
> 
> I am at hemovesthemoon on Tumblr and will love you forever if you drop by to tell me what I got wrong or even to scold me.


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